Andy Stewart
10%
Origin Of A Species 1.0
As a framebuilder whose career began in the ferrous era, I’ve always had a synergy with lugs. Despite that the industry eventually eschewed steel as a viable material for making bicycle frames en masse, I believe the best are still made with it. I also think the best of the best are made with lugs. Part of my reasoning is romantic and tied to the baggage I inherited by dint of my early 1970s arrival on framebuilding’s doorstep. And part of it is because I have spent four and a half decades observing as folks have tried to reinvent the bicycle.
For all the science, materials engineering, and bar graphs one can throw at a board, nothing changes the fact that technique and technology go hand in hand. To this end, I believe that the best bicycles are the ones made by folks untethered to price points, model year choices, and marketing trends. Among this group are some remarkable craftspeople whose frames are made, by hand, with lugs.
All This By Hand
"As an homage to the EPOdays of yore- I'd find the world's last remaining pair of 40cm ergonomic drop bars.....i think everyone who ever liked those handlebars in that shape and in that width is either dead of a drug overdose, works in the Schaerbeek mattress factory now and weighs 300 pounds or is Dr. Davey Bruylandts...who for all I know is doing both of those things." - Jerk
No, good sir, I grasped it fully. As a mechanic of many many years, I have ASSEMBLED many bicycles of varied origin. Hand built masterpiece frames, from yourself, Dario, Roland, Nagasawa, the DeRosa's, Parlee, etc. I have also had to assemble every type of cookie cutter popped out of mold bicycles that have come to dominate the industry. Part of some of those assemblies, both of hand built origin or otherwise I have had the pleasure of MAKING custom wheels for them. A similar process to building a frame in that I take separate parts( hub/rim/spokes vs tubes/dropouts/lugs) and bring them together into a unit. Certainly different skill sets, but at the same time, just as almost anybody can take those parts and assemble them into a wheel or frame...only a skilled set of hands can make them into an item that will last under the intended duress.
Your phrasing, and the image just struck the chord in me to ask the question and see what answers ensued.
Matt
The text, abstract as it was with the graphic, is about forks. You either make them, or you order them from QBP. Many of the components and processes that are part of the trade have been replaced by pre-fabbed, ready made parts that come in three sizes. The making of things, precious to some, is being lost.
Fair enough, but also the same can be said in my view about many frames themselves these days can it not? My first view of the photo instantly made me think of frameset, since you construct both frame and fork, as a unit. In my view, the same sentiment can be applied to wheels While I cannot deny there are some good quality pre-built wheel systems out there, there are also quite a few that are..quite simply, not.
A question for you, is there specific task, or tasks that you most enjoy when at the bench? That you look forward too? I love nothing more than to build wheels, personally. The best kind of day at the shop for me is a day that has 2 or 3 wheel builds in the mix of regular repair work.
Matt
Richard I totally agreed that the best of the best is steel lugged bikes. I have four bikes and three are steel and one Ti. My Peg is the only non-lugged steel and though it rides great my lugged Kirk and Eisentraut just seem better put together and the ride is sublime.
I don't think of a fork as an accessory or component. Where the front wheel is and how a bicycle steers are part of the whole. In buying a fork rather than make one, a frame builder 1) gives up a small amount of ownership on the complete bicycle bearing his name. This says, to me, that he's okay letting someone else make critical decisions on his behalf. It also 2) takes one more task away from a trade that has lost much of its hand-making roots. And I'm not even that zealous that the hands have to do the work. But I do believe the maker should. When he doesn't, if he can't, it's one more step that is lost. When steps are lost, bicycles from the larger makers with deeper pockets for R+D, and improved manufacturing processes begin to look better and better.
Re the specific task question - what I enjoy most, what I've always enjoyed most, is the time after a frame (and fork) has been finished. For all the gaffes and second-guesses that are part of the process, the new morning when another order is about to begin, but nothing yet has happened, and there's all this enthusiasm for that maybe just maybe the next one will check all the boxes - but I haven't done a thing yet, but am about to - that moment between the ideal of a concept and the reality that, the moment before I start hacking on something, be it a pipe, a spec, or using some cutting tools, there's that small window of time when nothing, absolutely nothing, has gone sideways (yet).
Origin Of A Species 2.0
I first designed lugs in 1981 when an alliance I had with my supplier, Takahashi Press Company Ltd, led to a collaboration. Prototypes I made would become the launching pad for a new line of parts they were introducing. The company was moving production of some its items made using the bulge forming process to what was referred to as lost wax casting.
For this project, I reworked some Nervex Ref. 32 lugs that I had been using for the previous seven years. The ideal was to produce these shapes in a ready-to-use version. Prior to the investment cast era, framebuilders were not just brazers and assemblers; they were metalsmiths too. It was part of the job to take small, pressed steel products from no-name European companies, rework them to look more beautiful, machine them so that the interference fits between them and the tubes they held would be improved, and also make them fit frame designs of the day. And – after the hand labor required for this – the frames still had to be built. The Takahashi project that I was involved in was the first to take some of the labor out of the intermediary tasks of framebuilding by producing higher quality raw materials for the trade. Lugs that fit better, had consistent quality and ones that were available with a higher degree of finish and were more beautiful – these were the goal, and I am proud to have been part of that. The first versions hit the market in late 1983.
All This By Hand
-- nervex ref.32 lugs reworked.., stand in my world alone marching to the same drummer as the richie-issimo lugs..
"made to race.., just happens to be beautiful too"
imho with a smile,
ronnie
Origin Of A Species 3.0
The next time my designs would show up in frame lugs would be about a decade later. In 1990, Bridgestone Bicycle Company commissioned me to create a set of frame lugs for a line of road bicycles they were making. Unlike the first ones I did for Takahashi, the B.B.C. lugs needed to be ornate and have a look-at-me quality. These parts would be used on manufactured bicycles and the work order asked that the shapes I arrived at should have enormous visual appeal and encourage the potential client and end user to want to look at the bicycle and be pleased with the details. The interaction between me, Bridgestone’s U.S. office, as well as the folks based in Japan, spanned well over a year. While the prototypes took less than two days to create, we all spent months deliberating over whether the technology existed to produce such intricate parts.
The text of a fax that contains some of the information that speaks to the trepidation and delays involved has been posted elsewhere, but sadly, B.B.C. closed its doors in the mid 1990s before the lugs were ever made, but the project was salvaged, tools were made, and the new lugs were ultimately used on the frames marketed by Rivendell Bicycles.
All This By Hand
Origin Of A Species 4.0
Through the years as the industry has decidedly become non-ferrous and placing so much emphasis on industrial-made bicycles, the need for high quality steel tubing and fine lugs to join them with became less and less. By 2000 I was thoroughly disenchanted with the supply chain and began plotting a way to become my own supplier as well as a resource for other peer framebuilders who also felt that the well was going dry. By 2002 my first set of modern era I.C. parts for what were now OS (over-sized) dimensions became a reality. I branded them Richie-Issimo. The set included a matching fork crown and bottom bracket shell. Within two years, I added the Newvex, Nuovo Richie, and Rene Singer lug sets and Piccoli Gioielli cast dropouts to the list of goods I offered to the trade. In 2004, working in tandem with Dario Pegoretti, and collaborating with Columbus in Italy, a design for a new tube set became a reality. The concept was to create the first 21st Century steel tube set specifically designed for artisan framebuilders who chose lugs as their joining process. PegoRichie tubing entered the vernacular by 2005. In 2011, a ÜOS (Über OverSize) version of PegoRichie tubing was added to the line, along with Sax Max lugs, bottom bracket shells, front derailleur braze-ons, and a 28.6mm fork crown sized for 27mm ÜOS fork blades.
If someone asked me about the state of framebuilding in the late 1990s, I may have sounded discouraged, jaded, and even poor-mouth. Part of me still had ties to the romantic and humble beginnings of an earlier era. Along the way, I was able to reverse engineer some of the trends leading up to Y2K and put myself in the position of designer for, and as a supplier to, many of the fine craftspeople who now comprise the framebuilding community.
All This By Hand
Grief Watts
When people leave there's a shadow cast on those left in their wake. And then somehow it vanishes. And that the shadow passes disturbs me, though I know well why it's gone. But it disturbs me anyway. Life doesn't wait. It never waits.
All This By Hand
Day Of Reckoning
I’ve never worked for anyone. Or for myself for that matter. These commissions all of them, they were just me staring at metal and hand-tools. That certain wonder about how to stand still long enough, and with the right posture. Yeah. People wrote checks and filled out forms. I reckon with all the appointments, the telephone calls, the measurements, the handwritten notes, the emails, and the emails – I’ve spent hours with each client before any tube is cut to length, or a color is selected. These meetings. The years of corresponding. All of it lives its own life and has precious little to do with the actual work. That part made up of the sacred moments when I am alone. Rarely with even a sound in the room, unless I am making it. I live within a balance of four walls, time, experiences, and the material. When the credits roll, that’s all there is. To always wonder about days spent. And to also listen to my only boss. I work for the metal and the hand-tools. When they are served well, I know it’s worth finishing. And then starting over.
All This By Hand
This Magic Moment
What I enjoy most, what I’ve always enjoyed most, is the time after a frame (and fork) has been finished. For all the gaffes and second-guesses that are part of the process, the new morning when another order is about to begin, but nothing yet has happened, and there’s all this enthusiasm for that maybe just maybe this next one will check all the boxes. But I haven’t done a thing yet, but am about to, very soon. That moment between the ideal of a concept and the reality that, the moment before I start hacking on a pipe, adjusting a spec, or using some cutting tools, there’s that small window of time when nothing absolutely nothing has gone sideways (yet). It’s a small moment at most. One that every maker knows.
All This By Hand
CX Natz
There are no do-overs in life. That’s the takeaway from my Reno sojourn. In what was basically a construct created to deal with loss, I realized after about 100 seconds of racing that loss will be there no matter what lens I view it through. Ya see, my last race really was in October. That’s me running through the long sand pits at HPCX. And I had a very good day at that. But I knew it’d be my last race since November would be filled with other obligations that’d keep me from staying committed to the program.
Then Bobbe died on the 24th. And Rich died about a week later. And I kept riding just because.
There’s this little game athletes play in order to bolster self-esteem. It revolves around believing they can get it done. Confidence. Arrogance. Maybe it’s delusion. I suffer from it. As time passed and the Natz drew closer, I began to look at the start lists, and the weather patterns, and the travel fares. Oh, and I also watched the Race Predictor at USAC hourly as my name kept hovering in that second spot. Despite a lack of race starts and serious training, all of this spoke to me and said, “Go to Reno and take care of business.”
My fantasy was perfectly scored but imperfectly executed. I was the second call-up. I had a superb start and turned myself inside out for another 100 good seconds, ready for the 40 minutes that followed. And then everything got dark. I was prepared for the storyline but unprepared for the task. There’s this place I was going where a win in Reno would erase the loss, or just allow me to accept it. And here I am back in Deep River. What I left five days ago is still here. Bobbe and Rich are still gone. The race is over. This season is done.
11, January 2018
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